Life Imitates Art

Part 21 - She's Different

Tessa_

I have no idea what is waiting for me at drama today. Wait, that sounds wrong. I'll try again. Um... what are transgender people like in-person? I've never met one. I've only seen a few thanks to social media's grasp on our world. How do I act around her? Is she going to be super political? She talked about helping 'her kind' when it came to Max. Does that mean she's going to be hands-on about it? She hasn't said as much. She also hasn't not said that.

No time to worry about that. I've just finished my makeup and I need to make sure Max's potential outfit is ready. I know I packed it last night, but the last few days have been a little blurrier than most. I just need this to go well, for Max's sake. For his health. For his peace of mind as well as mine. One way or another, I should be closer to working out how his head works. I could always try to delve into Molly's and unwrap some secrets to store before he even joins us today.

Without doubt, Courtney is going to look better than me. She always does. I just don't know how ready I am to face the potential of a transgender girl doing so too. I know that's horrible of me to think. It's one of those inside thoughts that belongs in a book and not in the open air. Still, my insecurity is quite debilitating already. If someone who's been a girl publicly for just a few months outshines me, I really don't know what that says about my gene pool. Or it's most likely just in my head.

I look at my makeup in the mirror. I've applied it to the usual thickness - the kind where I am at risk of suffocating myself. Dad always jests that I 'need a blowtorch to remove all of that'. And sure enough, that line meets me on the way out the door.

"Do I look alright?"

"Yeah, of course! You feeling OK? You don't normally ask me that."

"Yeah. Just a little off this morning. I'm sure drama will kick my head into gear."

"It sure will." Dad spots the second bag. "What are you taking with you?" He waits a couple of seconds before he cancels his own question. "Actually, never mind. It's not my place to know. Have fun at drama!"

"Will do. And remember that Max is coming into town with me today. Make sure he's up to get the bus. And make sure he wears his trainers. We'll probably be out for a while."

"No worries. I'll wake him shortly. You know what he's like."

Dad isn't quite right. Max is often the first awake in the house. But he'll spend the first hour or so at his desk either polishing the previous night's work he didn't finish before sleep conquered him or checking his blog and online accounts. Gallery? Do I call it a gallery?

I leave, hoping that gripping the steering wheel of the Micra enough will cause those feelings of self-hate to flow out of my bones and into the car to be swallowed by the engine, or burst from the pressure and escape out the open window. It's cloudy but clear and this car is very warm by default.

I wait outside the drama room for Courtney and Molly to arrive. When I say this is like a scene out of a US-based teen drama, I mean it. Life itself seems to slow to match itself perfectly to the gentle swishing of Courtney's hair. And beside her is a girl with bright gingery-orange hair who has stepped right out of Legally Blonde or Clueless. Her hair cascades down her shoulders but it's more like a leaking spring than a waterfall. The strands never threaten to disappear down her back. They simply aren't long enough. I move my own hair around with my head. At least I have that. They do make me feel rather underdressed in every other sense. My skirt is nothing compared to these outfits.

Courtney's black hair and zebra-print dress co-ordination is a sight to savour. The dress has a little pink outline on the shoulders and as she gets closer, I can see that the shoes have the same thing around the... um... the bit you put your foot in. Why has that word eluded me of all words? Is there even a word for it?